


Senza Fine

by Ambrose



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/pseuds/Ambrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for the Bard's Birthday exchange. the prompt was "Romeo and Juliet- gen Mercutio+Benvolio pre canon". I wanted to make it fun, but it turned out more serious than I thought. Still, I hope you enjoy it :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Senza Fine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercutioLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercutioLives/gifts).



> written for the Bard's Birthday exchange. the prompt was "Romeo and Juliet- gen Mercutio+Benvolio pre canon". I wanted to make it fun, but it turned out more serious than I thought. Still, I hope you enjoy it :)

“Stop moving, already!” Benvolio commanded for the umpteenth time. Without much success.

It wasn't the first time – certainly wouldn't be the last – that he had to drag Mercutio to the Montague mansion, smuggling him through the back door, to take care of him after a fight. It had become a habit, really – ever since he found out that, left to his own devices, Mercutio would ignore his wounds until they healed by themselves. No matter how many times Benvolio pointed out how dangerous and unnecessarily painful it was, Mercutio did not listen.

Why he did that in the first place, well, it took Benvolio some time to figure out, but he thought he got it now. Even though they never really talked about it. That Mercutio wanted to punish himself, whatever for, didn't mean Benvolio had to let him.

Truth be told, he wished his friend could stay out of the feud that raged between his own family and the Capulets. He sometimes wished there was no feud at all, but he would probably never see the day. He somehow felt responsible, for dragging him into it – the Della Scala had nothing to do with it after all. After befriending him, it seemed Mercutio had felt he owed it to him to pick all the fights Benvolio himself refused to partake in – and Benvolio ended up in the middle of it all the same. However, he also felt that, if Mercutio didn't have _that_ fight to pick, he would have found others. His anger at the Capulets, and most of all Tybalt, seemed merely an excuse, to fight, to hide his frustration behind the violence, to express all those things he would not talk about.

 

 

When they first got acquainted – the first time Benvolio really saw Mercutio out of official meetings – it was in a tavern, and Benvolio had barely recognized him, at first. Not that he knew that many people in Verona back then, as he'd joined his aunt's household on a more permanent basis only recently, after months of comings and goings between here and his parents'; and he still spent most of his time helping out, or hanging out with his cousin.

He'd managed, for once, to convince Romeo to _stop it with the soppy poetry_ (induced by the last girl who rejected him, pretending she was about to get herself to a nunnery to evade his advances) and join him for an evening in town. He could not now remember what the girl's name was back then; there had been so many since. Romeo himself probably did not remember.

In fact, after a drink or two, Romeo only had eyes for the serving maid, and was desperately trying to catch her attention, future nun be damned. Which made Benvolio realise it was probably a bad idea in the first place.

And then there was this man at the bar, in the shadows. He looked familiar, though Benvolio could not tell where from – and he was silently laughing at them. He noticed Benvolio staring back, and waved him to the empty stool besides him.

With a sigh of relief, Benvolio abandoned a Romeo too much in his dreams to even notice, and sat with his beer next to the stranger. And then, what with the unruly mop of red hair and the sardonic smile, Benvolio recognized the (in)famous nephew of the Prince. He barely saw him before, only a few times at meetings, standing behind his uncle just like Benvolio stood behind his, silent but often smiling ironically at whatever project the old men were discussing. He always made himself scarce as soon as he could.

Benvolio still didn't know how to react, so he opted for an “I didn't recognize you at first, your highness”, but Mercutio cut him mid-sentence to introduce himself, holding out a hand: “I'm Mercutio”.

And Benvolio decided he was fine with that – not to mention that he'd have felt quite awkward drinking with _his highness_ if he'd insisted on formalities. Truth be told, his evening had proven to be quite dull so far. Not to mention that he was tired of practically babysitting his cousin all day long since he joined his aunt's household a few months back, and quite frankly he could use a friend. Someone that was not his pup of a cousin. Maybe it was the ease and wit with which Mercutio rebuked an invasive drunken neighbour, outsmarting him by far; or the genuinely warm smile he'd given him when he joined him, but Benvolio somehow could tell they'd get along. Or so he hoped. It wasn't really hard to warm up to him, even if he seemed to do his best to seem detached from everything.

“You're a bit lost around here, aren't you?” Mercutio asked, mocking. “I didn't know Montagues ever ventured in this part of the city.”

Yes, of course, that tavern was very close to the Capulet estates, albeit still on neutral grounds – Benvolio wasn't crazy enough to risk going on their turf at night. Still, the area had the significant benefit of hosting none of Romeo's crushes' relatives. Don't get him wrong, Benvolio loved his cousin. He was just a bit weary of his recurring love-sickness. They had enough troubles with the two families fighting all the time, not to add to it by making enemies of all the major heads of families that happened to have pretty daughters. He'd turn the feud into a full-blown war one day, with this behaviour, Benvolio thought. Which was in part why his aunt insisted Benvolio looked after his younger cousin – probably hoping Romeo'd profit from the example. That had made him laugh, of course, but he obeyed nonetheless – and would readily admit that, when he was not praising a maid or another, his cousin was good company.

“I thought Della Scalas never got out of the palace,” he answered finally. “So you see, we were both mistaken.”

“Well, this Della Scala decided a change of scenery was in order.”

And their banter, with the help of a couple more drinks, marked the start of a friendship Benvolio would long cherish.

 

 

Mercutio squirmed under his touch, and complained, bringing him back to reality.

“Stop it!” Benvolio repeated. “I'm almost done.”

Mercutio grumbled some more, but stayed still long enough – until Benvolio claimed “that's it, you're fixed”, and he jumped to his feet – and, still dizzy from the blow he took to the head, let himself fall back onto his seat just as quick.

“I don't need fixing,” he mumbled.

“If you say so. Still, you had better talk to him, instead of... whatever that was.”

“Sure”, Mercutio answered, sarcastic.

“I'm not kidding, Mercutio, you're acting stupid, the both of you. I don't get why you pretend like you want each other's death every single time you meet.”

“I hate him, Ben, him and his grin and his pride! How can you even stand him?”

Benvolio shrugged. Mercutio could say what he wanted, but he wasn't so blind.

“He's never done anything to me.”

“He's a Capulet!”

“Just another one, yeah. So? What's _your_ excuse, Messer Della Scala?”

Mercutio grumbled, definitely not in the mood for such a conversation. If anything, that he was not punning his way out of it was a sure sign he was taking it pretty badly.

“Alright, alright.” Ben smiled. “Just think about it. You'll get yourself killed, one day, and it'll be too late.”

This earned him another scoff. “No risk! That Prince of Cats can't handle a sword properly!”

“What's this, then?” Benvolio pointed at his forehead.

“Nah, 'tis but a scratch!”

And with a last joke – and a coerced promise to not get himself into more trouble on his way home – Mercutio disappeared into the night.

The next day, of course, would again bring its lot of troubles, as always in Verona. But for the time being, Benvolio was content enough to know that his friend was safe and sound – and in a good mood, at that. And maybe, _maybe_ , the feud would not last, and one day they could all look back on their youth with fondness, and laugh at how stupid and reckless they were, yet always feeling so alive in the heat of a fight that the rest did not matter.

 


End file.
